


Last Night a Bartender Saved My Life

by blistry



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 70s, Alternate Universe, DameRey, Drug Use, F/M, JediPilot, Studio 54, adore hux, bad words, disco ahead, fight me in the street, i think you can guess which drugs, i unabashedly, ill be in the pizza hut parking lot no shirt be there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blistry/pseuds/blistry
Summary: “What do you like? You like shots?”Rey very much liked shots. “I like anything.”“Say that again,” the bartender said, bending over the bar to hear her better over the music. The scent of his cologne drew her in.“I like anything.”He smiled at her like she had just told him a delicious secret.“What’s your name, sweetheart?” He leaned into her, bracing himself against the bar.--a damerey studio 54 alternate universe fic





	Last Night a Bartender Saved My Life

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to my cool beta reader my mom <3
> 
> brace for major 70s vibes

“Just try not to touch me - especially once we get inside.”

Rey rolled her eyes.

Armitage Hux, her “date” for the night, hadn’t given her so much as a glance since he joined her in the limousine. He was too busy fixing his hair in the rectangular mirror he had brought along.

“I don’t want any of that shit sticking to me, okay? This is suede.”

As if she would be tempted to make any sort of intentional physical contact with him. For once, Rey was relieved her stylist had dressed her in something covered in so many unnecessary feathers and sequins.

Although, if Rey could’ve given her own input on her costume, she would have picked something which offered a little more coverage. The white jumpsuit technically ‘covered’ a fair amount of skin, but much of it was sheer and all of it was chiffon. They also didn’t want her bringing a jacket. ‘It would ruin the silhouette’, they said. It was early May.

_Idiots._

Or maybe Rey was the idiot for letting her manager have this much control over her appearance.

She closed her eyes and bumped her head into the limousine window twice.

At the sound of plastic rustling and persistent tapping, she glanced at Hux from beneath her long lashes. There he was, humming along with Hall and Oates on the radio, arranging his blow on that same mirror, balancing it on his knee. Three dainty, white lines.

“I heard Mick is going to be there tonight. Bianca too, of course. I’ll arrange an introduction.”

“Wonderful,” she said, not bothering to open her teeth to say it. He served no more purpose to her than her bedazzled statement clutch. All form and no function. All for show. And the feeling was mutual.

“God, you’re dull,” he replied, his lip curling, before snorting two of the lines. He tilted his head back, shaking his head and blinking thrice in quick succession.

Great, just what she needed: For Hux to be even more high strung and self-assured.

“Right, love,” he said, proffering the glass and a tightly rolled up Benjamin. One white line remained. “You’re up.”

Rey ignored him, holding her head in her hand and watching the lights of New York City pass her by out of the black tinted windows,

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, half annoyed, half somehow laughing at her expense. Hux enjoyed the last rail himself. The leather beneath him squeaked as he sat back.

When they arrived at their destination, he rushed out of the limo ahead of her, eager to be snapped by paparazzi at the entrance, no doubt. At the car door, he waited, offering his hand. She pretended not to see, relishing the pinched look on his face as she let her Swarovski crystal-encrusted high heels take her to the entrance of fabulous Studio 54.

The crowd parted for her and her obnoxious date, the doorman giving them both a broad and simpering smile as he moved aside the velvet rope for them. The poor souls in the long line behind the velvet rope would be waiting there all night.

Hux’s hand met Rey’s lower back in a way which might have appeared gallant but, in reality, was a gesture of strategic control. It also made her want to jump out of her skin.

The interior was breathtaking like a house fire was breathtaking. Rey took in the modern day Gomorrah as hundreds of bodies in high-waisted bell-bottoms writhed on the dance floor. Spotlights swung to and fro. Large panels hung from the ceiling, decorated with rigid strips of neon lights. The glitter piled so high on the floor, Rey was cautious not to roll her ankle where it gathered in huge drifts. Above her, on the balcony, yet more people crowded against one another.

“‘S’cuse me, honey,” she heard from a beautiful, shirtless busboy in tiny shorts and high socks as he accidentally bumped her carrying a tub of empty champagne flutes. She was speechless, watching his oiled up back muscles flexing under the pink and blue lights as he hoisted the tub up onto his shoulder.

She shook her head, as if she needed waking from a dream. The sexy disco strains of Donna Summer blasted over the loudspeakers and the masses of people swayed with it. She was starting to lose count how many designers, celebrities, and popular influencers she had spotted in the crowd.

Rey soon detected Hux’s missing hand, as he got caught up greeting someone he knew. Or wanted to know. He was easily seduced by the allure of fame and consequently other _famous people_. She was almost sorry for him. The man was as transparent as her jumpsuit. This wouldn’t be the first time Rey would have to witness his aggressive schmoozing alienate a producer or two.

 _Unless_ , she didn’t have to be around to witness it.

This was her chance to flee and so she did, stealthily slipping away from his side and disappearing into the crowd. She crossed the dancefloor, amazed. Rey could tell - for better or for worse - this was quite a time to be alive. It was almost as if a barrier protected this club from the outside world. Only the dazzling could pass through the door. Only the daring, the revolutionary.

Nearby, Truman Capote danced a drunken foxtrot with a woman that stood a full head taller than him and wore nothing except for sparkling pasties and cut-off shorts.

Rey needed a dash of whatever they were having.

Scratch that, they were having cocaine. She did not need that.

The bar, she thought. She would find the bar by following one of those bus boys to the source of the champagne.

The density of the crowd was a sure sign she was near. Rey pushed her way through the thick of it, mercenary in her manner, throwing elbows if she had to. Nothing was getting between her and a stiff drink. As she found a spot to lean against the bar, she gave a weary glance behind her. In horror movies, it was just when the heroine thought she was safe that the Big Bad (in this case a black-swathed, tall menace) would strike.

“Pardon me, Miss.”

She gasped, wavy hair fluttering around her head as she turned to the source of the voice.

“I couldn't help but notice that tragic look on your face,” said the bartender.

Rey, recovering from his cryptic introduction, gave him a conspicuous once over. To her, it was fact that he was handsome all snug in his tight beige shirt with the top three buttons popped open. His chin was peppered with just the perfect length of careless stubble. A set of dimples framed his smirking mouth. Perched askew atop his black, curly hair was a ship captain’s hat.

“Excuse me?”

He gave her a matter-of-fact look with stormy, dark, James Dean eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong - you’re a _fox_ but, well, we have a policy,”

“What do you mean ‘ _policy_ ’,” she said, defensively pulling her clutch to her chest, suddenly skeptical of his easy flattery. He stepped in closer to her from across the bar, like he was letting her in on a secret.

“No one should be unhappy in Fifty-Four and it’s my job to make sure it stays that way.”

Rey wanted to roll her eyes at him, but it felt oddly comforting that this attractive stranger noticed she wasn’t having a good night.

“So,” he continued, offering her a small bow, “what can I get you, sweetheart?”

After giving him one last look of reservation, she conceded defeat. Rey usually ordered a predictable Vodka Cranberry but today she decided to let the professional take the reins.

“Something strong.”

He nodded knowingly.

“What do you like? You like shots?”

Rey very much liked shots. “I like anything.”

“Say that again,” the bartender said, leaning in to hear her better over the music. The scent of his cologne drew her in.

“ _I like anything.”_

He smiled at her like she had just told him a delicious secret.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” He leaned into her, bracing himself against the bar.

There was a question she didn’t hear too often these days.

“It’s Rey.”

“Tell you what, Rey, I have something of a specialty that I only make for the most stunning girls who come to my bar.”

She gave him a thumbs down. “Terrible line.”

“On that we agree but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” He had the audacity to wink at her. “So do you want to try it or not?”

Rey considered it, swapping her gaze back and forth between the bartender and the library of liquor behind him.

“Well...” she said, beckoning for his name with her hand and tone.

“Poe.”

“First tell me something, Poe.”

He gave her an open and expectant look.

“Isn’t a shirt with that many buttons undone violating some sort of health code?”

“Not behind my bar it isn’t.”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“I’ll take that shot.”

Poe gave her a look like he was proud of her. None-too-gently, he set the empty shot glass before her. _Chnk_ . Rey found him to be a superb multitasker - marvelling at his ability to find and retrieve bottles and implements while explaining them all with charismatic ease. Smooth, like James Bond but with no gadgets and a _really_ nice body. Roger Moore, eat your heart out.

“It’s illegally imported black vodka that I brought from home - so please don’t tell my boss - Sambuca, and a dash of orange zest.”

“That sounds…”

“Disgusting? Oh, _it is_.” He poured the Sambuca first, then a generous helping of vodka. “But I promise you, my hand to God, it’s gonna turn your night around, Rey.”

After plopping a tightly coiled tangerine peel right into the shot glass, he pushed the finished libation before her. She had never seen pitch black liquor in her life but there it was.

“I call it the _Black One_.”

Rey eyed the inky shot up and down, pensive but unafraid. She made a grab for the glass, but he blocked her with one hand, devilishly raising his eyebrows at her, biting his lip, and setting it alight with a torch.

She mirrored his expression, picking up the shot and bringing it before her mouth.

“Blow it out first.”

“Oh,” she assured him, “I _know_ what to do with this.”

With a confident puff of air from her lips, the fire went out - she didn’t want to leave it burning too long, after all. If the alcohol cooked off that would defeat the purpose. Then, she tipped it back and swallowed it without hesitation, feeling the scorch of it in her ears and racing down her throat like she hadn’t blown the flame out in the first place. She tilted her head and her features scrunched at the afterburn. All that remained of the shot was the tangerine peel sitting damp and wilted in the glass.

“That was just _awful,_ ” she choked out.

“But you feel better right?”

“I don’t know; is shooting jet fuel supposed to make a person feel better?”

“I think the magic of the _Black One_ speaks for itself. While back I served one of these to Liza Minelli,”

“And?”

“ _And_ she’s gonna star in _New York, New York._ ”

“All because of your shot?”

“Well,” he said, pulling back his captain’s hat to run his fingers through his hair, “it’s not _not_ because of my shot.”

Her mind dwelt briefly on the rumors about that flick, which had been circulating around the studio. Scorcese was a big name but one too many rides on the white horse could make even the tallest of the industry giants incomprehensible in regards to directorial decision making. It was probably for the best that Poe couldn’t claim full responsibility for Liza’s role in it. Of course, she didn’t tell him that. She just laughed and relished the buzz the shot had given her.

Then, Rey’s horror movie moment arrived.

“ _There_ you are!”

Leatherface himself would have been a more welcome interruption.

“Hux-”

“You completely embarrassed me in front of Scoble and Darlington. You’re supposed to be meeting them but I turned and you were gone!”

“I don’t know who any of those people are!” Rey shouted.

“You don’t- Are you daft? My _God_ , how clueless are you?”

“Hey, hey. There a problem here?” She turned and Poe was looking only at her, eyes blazing with irritation.

“Stick to mixing drinks, _Help_! I’m talking to my date.”

Poe uncrossed his arms and leaned menacingly over his counter, the muscles in his temples flexing visibly under the neon glow. Up until that moment he hadn’t deigned to acknowledge Hux’s existence.

This was bad, Rey assessed. Hux was a haughty little shit on any given night of the week. Add a little coke to the mixture and you have one lanky trust fund kid who was seriously overestimating the amount weight he had to throw around.

“Listen, asshole, this is _my_ bar,” Poe said, bearing his teeth. Hux grabbed at Rey, happy to pretend Poe didn’t exist.

“Don’t touch me,” Rey hissed, as a hand wrapped tightly around the bare skin of her upper arm. Hux began to drag her away from the bar. “Stop pulling me!” She used her nails to wrench his fingers off of her.

“You heard what she said, pal,” the bartender warned him for what Rey _just_ _knew_ was the last time. “Hands off.”

Hux shot him a look. A demeaning one. The same look he’d given Rey many times on set that made her feel embarrassed. Embarrassed about what she didn’t know, where she was from, _who_ she was or rather who she _wasn’t._

“Fuck off,” the prat drawled, his silver-spoon-sucking mouth turning down at the corners with pure, douchey delight.

The series of events which would unfold next happened so fast, Rey would hardly be able to describe them accurately except for to say it was one of the most sensationally satisfying things she had ever seen.

Poe, mouth slightly ajar and eyes half-lidded, ran his tongue along his molars, canting his head. Hux wore a victorious smirk. He could treat the employees however he wanted. 54 was a palace where all within lived to serve the rich and privileged.

“Let’s go,” Hux said, the biting edge of his voice not worrying Rey in the slightest. She was already moving well out of the way as her new best friend, the bartender, raised his mighty soda gun to spray her “date”, soaking the prick’s black, suede jacket.

Hux reeled backward, his arms hanging haplessly out to his sides, like he was a marionette. Rey gave Poe a look pure astonishment. He matched it, holstering his makeshift weapon. Finally, when what had just happened finally sank in, the tyrannical brat gave the lapel of his jacket an experimental sniff.

“What is-” he began, repulsed yet still going back for another inhale, “What is this?”

Poe examines the soda gun, “uh, looks like- yep,” he gave a snarky grin, “it’s sour mix.”

Hux snarled and lunged forward, grabbing Poe by his shirt. Rey saw how he wound up to throw a punch, so she shoved him, sending him sideways and his fist well away from Poe’s jaw. When he regained his footing, Hux glared at her, his pale skin turning blotchy and a vein in his forehead growing prominent.

“Hey, buddy.”

Hux’s head swiveled instantly, his perfectly groomed hair coming loose and falling in his eyes so that he couldn’t quite see Poe’s open palm swinging in a wide arc on a collision course with his face.

 _Crack_.

Rey covered her mouth with her hand. Hux’s gangly legs flew out from under him as Poe slapped his shit so hard his redheaded daddy probably felt it. The scene reminded Rey of something she saw in a nature documentary once. A lone lion effortlessly batting a hyena away from his fresh kill with one great, big paw.

Hux hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Rey leaned over him, watching as he rocked from side to side, basting himself in glitter and making pathetic mewling sounds.

Then, that nasty stubborn streak that was always getting her in trouble in grade school reared its ugly head as, against her better judgement, she kneeled down next to Hux.

“Tough break, _love_. Better get some club soda on that before it’s ruined. It’s suede, you know.”

She patted his damp chest and rose to her full height resolved to blow this pop stand. Studio 54 had been a trip. A _bad_ trip.

Poe, breathing hard, his curls having fallen out of his hat, was still riding the wave of adrenaline from the short scuffle. The crowd clamored around them.

She turned and made her escape, surveilling the space around her as she trotted away, snatching her clutch off the bar as she fled. The high tempo of her heels click-clacking against the wooden floor matched the rhythm of the disco beat.

“Wait!” Poe was hot on her tail.

“Rey, I’m sorry, I - …,” Poe said before being interrupted. “Hey, get your fuckin’ hands off me, Roger. No, you listen to _me_ -”

Poe glanced at her over the shoulder of the large bald man who was poking him hard in the chest. She turned back to meet his gaze for a fleeting moment. She felt a twinge of guilt over leaving him to fend for himself.

What was ahead of her, that’s what was important. She made a break for the lounge, cursing as she nearly tripped on a long, runner rug stretching its way down a long hallway. What did she spy at the end of it but a heavy duty, steel door. Heavy duty, steel door meant exit. Outside. Fresh Air. The soft material of her jumpsuit swished as she power-walked to the exit, the sound of the music dwindling.

She burst out of the door, pushing the massive thing with all of her might, relishing a breath of cool New York City air which could, for once, be described as cleansing despite the ever-present perfume of street garbage drifting with the breeze. It didn’t matter. Anything beat the cloud of liberally-applied cologne and glitter particulate she had been exposed to inside, even a dingy alleyway.

The door slammed shut behind her, probably locking. Not that she cared.

It was all too much for one night. What the hell was she going to tell her manager when he found about Hux and what happened?

_Hux._

She loathed and envied the man all at once. He met such unattainable levels of polish, day after day, engagement after engagement. Rey could hardly keep the feather in her hair for longer than a couple of hours if there was a slight breeze yet Hux could go to three afterparties in a row and still look fresh as a spring daisy. She wasn’t cut out for this.

Isn’t that what Hux had said to her that night, months ago, when they ran into each other on the lot after a trying day of shooting?

_“You’re not cut out for this,” he slurred, swinging around an open bottle of Dom Perignon, showing his mean, crooked teeth to her and laughing as he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, barely managing to stay upright as he climbed into his trailer. “I mean look at you. Look at me. We’re not even of the same genus,” he said, spinning precariously around and wagging a finger between them._

_Cruel half-lidded eyes did he turn on her. Mocking eyes. And an unapologetic pout. “Oh, don’t make that face. You look like an abandoned kitten. Chin up, love. They’re just eating up that precious ingénue bullshit of yours. Have a drink? No, actually don’t. In fact, go away.”_

Rey teetered backward, trying to physically disengage from the memory, shoulders bumping into the dirty brick wall behind her. “Shit,” she said as she raked her fingers through her hair, indulging in an old nervous habit of tugging on her tresses, the sting of it on her roots grounding her in reality.

When she was satisfied, she released her handfuls of hair and tilted her head upward, her pupils pinning as she stared into the lone lamp shining down on the metal door. _Tink, tink, tink._ A dusty, gray moth bounced uselessly off of the bulb over and over, hungry for the glow, hardly knowing what it cost to spend every precious minute of its short life crashing its head into a mesmerizing lie.

“It’s pretty,” she murmured to the moth, “but it isn’t the sun, little guy.”

 _Tink, tink, tink_.

Suddenly, the door beside her was violently thrown open it almost smacked her. Frightened, she pressed herself against the brick wall as a stranger came stomping out, cursing, and kicking over a stack of wooden crates that sat next to the trash cans.

Only, when he stepped into the light, she could see he was not a stranger.

He tucked his captain’s hat under his arm and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing and offering one last half-hearted _fuuuuuck_ to the cool night air. Then, his shoulders sagging like he was completely defeated, Poe set about picking up all the crates and stacking them back up the way they were.

She stepped into the light, at last, having decided it wouldn’t be right for her to watch him while he thought he was alone. The grime of the streets crunched under her heels as she bent over to help him with the mess.

His head swiveled around in surprise. Poe’s expression fell as soon as he laid eyes on her and he passed a hand over his face.

“You scared me,” he groused, embarrassed, turning back to steadying the stack.

“Likewise.” The last crate clacked hard against the others as she topped off the tower.

He blew out an uncomfortable breath and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Listen, back there. I’m sorry. You okay?”

Rey gave him a perfunctory wave over her shoulder as she took her former spot on the wall next to the door. She crossed her arms. “You?”

“‘Of course,” he said, taking the spot on the other side of the door. “I mean, I’m _fired_ but, I’m great.”

Rey’s heart seemed to pitter-patter right into a bear trap as the words left him. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” Poe pulled the brown, fleece-lined, leather jacket off of his shoulders and offered it to her. It didn’t escape her that he seemed to interrupt her on purpose.

“Go on, really,” he urged, sensing her hesitation.

Rey uncrossed her arms. She _was_ cold. The thin straps of her jumpsuit did a piss poor job keeping her shoulders warm. The jacket was nice and heavy in her grasp as she took it from him.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling on the oversized sleeves - relishing the warmth, the softness, and the scent he left lingering on the collar.

“No sweat.”

A long silence transpired between them. Rey could have made her exit minutes ago but she was holding out the girlish hope that they could continue to chat. She suspected he felt the same way, considering he had just as much reason to leave 54 in the rearview mirror. With a sneaky glance, she surveyed him once more. Poe was against the wall like her, legs crossed at the ankles, clearly deep in thought.

 _Halston, Gucci, Fiorucci,_ she thought, mentally crossing herself according to the disco holy trinity. He fit very well in those dress pants of his. Rey had to say something before her ogling went on for too long.

“The black vodka ...”

“... Is _not_ company property, I assure you,” he replied.

“That’s right, you brought it from home.” Rey bit her lip and watched him. “So are you just going to hold on to it all night or are you gonna pass it over here?”

Poe looked down at the bottle and then at her, confused and then delighted. “Yes ma’am.”

It was a sweet feeling, the moment gave her; like she was in high school under the bleachers with the bad boy who snuck his dad’s liquor to the football game.

He went to hand her the bottle but then withheld it, pointing to her person. “Wait, check the inside pocket. Left side.”

Rey watched him as she dug around his jacket pocket, brow furrowed. Her fingers crinkled against plastic as she finally found a baggie of the saddest, brownest ditch weed she had seen in years. Now things were really starting to feel like high school.

“You smoke?”

“On occasion,” she said, watching his hand as he took the baggie.

“Killer. Papers?”

Poe traded her the vodka for the rolling papers she found in the same pocket. She took a deep breath before tilting the bottle carefully to take a swig. She coughed and pulled a scrunched face. Beside her, across the door, Poe was carefully sprinkling pot onto the thin paper, his tongue sticking out just a little as he concentrated.

“Do you deal with stuff like that a lot?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Hux.”

“Oh, _stuff_ like entitled cokeheads acting obnoxious? At this gig? I’ll let you guess. _Usually_ , I have the good sense not to lose my temper like that. Put this away for me?”

Rey took the baggie from him and rolled it up tightly, stuffing it back in his pocket.

“Anyway, what I’m curious about, is how did a groovy chick like you end up with a guy like that? I mean, I know he’s a hotshot actor but still-” He raised his eyebrows, pinning her with a look like she owed him an explanation.

“It wasn’t our idea, believe me. He thinks I’m a drag.” Now that was funny, that Rey was the unbearable one. “Studio just wanted us to appear together in some places. Look nice in a few pictures, look happy, look _cool_. Generate a little buzz for the movie.”

“Movie?”

She nodded, taking another measured swig from the bottle.

“You’re in a movie,” he deadpanned.

“Is that so hard to believe?” she asked, starting to feel a little offended.

“No! No not at all. It’s just - a movie with _that guy_. Woof, sweetheart - Now, don’t get me wrong. I liked that one flick of his. Where they’re on the submarine and that space alien knocks ‘em off one by one?

“Twenty-Thousand Screams Under the Sea.”

“Yes! That’s the one. Good shit but I digress. That guy is a dick.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.”

She watched him in her periphery, worrying his lip and visibly debating whether or not he was allowed to ask any questions. He played it cool, focusing on tightening up his joint.

“What’s it about? Your movie.”

“It’s a crime drama. I play the mistress of the judge who gets murdered at the beginning.”

He snorted. “Scandal.”

Rey gave him a devious look, wiggling her eyebrows.

“And she’s dangerous. Turns out to be a real femme fatale.”

“Wow, and you can play that kinda role, huh? Did they get you in one of those really slinky dresses? Maybe a a gun strapped all high up on your thigh?”

“Well,” she said, purposefully ignoring his more specific questions, “guess you’ll have to buy a ticket when it comes out.”

“I guess I will,” Poe repeated. Then he licked the adhesive on the paper and sealed it, turning the little white cylinder with pinched off ends around in his fingers to check his work.

“Any plans to do more?”

Rey pretended to read the label on the vodka. A move which proved to be ridiculous as everything on it was written in Cyrillic. She huffed, lowering the booze.

“I suppose it all depends on how this film does,” she said, “but it doesn’t make much difference to me, as long as I make enough money to never have to work at Tastee Freeze ever again.”

Poe gave her a teasing, narrow-eyed look, “Bet you make a mean Freez-Ola though.”

She did. With an extra cherry or two if she liked you.

“I just had the best idea, Rey.”

“What?”

“You should be in a movie with Steve McQueen. Now there’s an actor,”

Ridiculous man. Rey giggled at the absurdity.

“I don’t think Steve McQueen does movies anymore. I’m not even sure anyone knows where he _is_.”

“What? You serious?” The joint bounced precariously on his lips as he spoke, looking at her like she cancelled Christmas.

“Sadly.”

“Huh,” Poe mumbled as he resumed his work with the lighter, puffing until plumes of smoke escaped out of the corners of his mouth. “S’damn shame.”

“So what about you,” Rey asked, the vodka stoking warmth in her belly and her demeanor. It was nice, for once, to just shoot the shit with a stranger. “You know all about me, what about you?”

“Me? Just an unemployed bartender.”

“Really, that’s it? Just a bartender?”

Poe hummed an indifferent answer.

“Been known to pilot a helicopter or two, y’know, if needs must,” he smiled as he lit the joint, daring her to call his bluff.

Rey wrinkled her nose at him, snorting at the outlandish statement. The flame of his lighter reflected back at her, dancing in his dark eyes.

“I’m not shittin’ you. You’re looking at the best damn helicopter pilot this side of the Mason-Dixon.”

Her confusion doubled, shaking her head as her smile faded. Like she didn’t get the joke, which she didn’t. He sighed, opening and shutting the spring-loaded lid of his Zippo.

“I’m a vet,” he said finally, failing to put a humorous spin on the phrase.

“Oh.” She smoothed down the front of the jacket and swallowed thickly. Her thoughts moved like molasses as she tried to figure out what in the world she should say. It did not help that she was really starting to feel those swigs of vodka.

“Sorry,” he said, turning rueful and rolling his eyes at her uncomfortable response. “I always forget we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

“You’re a pilot. That’s incredible. I just- I wasn’t expecting it, that's all. ”

“No, no, ignore me. I’m just being an asshole. Really. Say, pass me that bottle.”

The lone incandescent light cut razor sharp shapes of light and dark across his face. She would have never guessed but she could see it now as he waved her apology off — the pain he was reflecting on right in that moment. It was the first time that night she had seen his playful, flirtatious facade fall away.

“Anyway,” he said, banishing the strange moment they had just shared with an overly jovial tone, “it’s me who should apologize. For before. I didn’t mean to seem so surprised about it,” he said. “That you’re a big movie star n’ all.”

Poe offered her the joint. Rey was hypnotized by the burning cherry as she took it from between his fingers. She was knew enough to not overdo it if it’s been awhile. One conservative hit would be a good start.

“It’s fine,” she said, smoke pouring out with her words as she passed it back.

“No, no, I’m saying- Seriously, you just- you’re nothing like _them_ is all. You’re not anything like those people.” He tossed his head in the direction of the club behind them.

“You might be right.” Rey cocked her head and fiddled with the fleece on the sleeve of his jacket. “Give me time and I might turn out to be a monster. It’s only my first movie, after all. ”

“No kidding.” He took another pull, his cheeks going concave from the effort.

Rey shook her head, “I was discovered at a talent show in Sedona.”

“Arizona girl?” he said, voice straining as he held the smoke in.

She nodded, taking the J as he proffered it, allowing herself a more generous lungful. He seemed happy to hear she was from somewhere so quaint compared to the Big Apple. Where was he from, she wondered.

“My agent-to-be was there to see his ex-wife, watch his daughter - she plays the accordion.” Rey sniffed. “She’s actually really good. Anyway, he saw my act and said I had something special. Something about my aura. Now that I'm saying it out loud it all sounds like such _bullshit_.”

“And I fell for it.” She had never said it all out loud before. After all, it’s not like there was any family for her to tell. How silly it all seemed now. How too good to be true.

“It isn’t bullshit. Obviously, he was right.”

Her eyebrow raised at this.

“Well, you’re in a movie, aren’t you?”

“Sure, I’m in a movie,” she said wryly, “I'm in a movie where I was constantly poked and prodded over my hair, my freckles, my _ass_ . No one around me can seem to stop snorting crushed up _whatever-_ whatever they can get their hands on for long enough to acknowledge the real world. And my co-star is an overblown _hack_ with delusions of being Rex Harrison.”

She buried her hands into her thick, middle-parted mane once more and dropped to a squat, wallowing fully in the shame of how completely out of control she had let things get. The intense, focused introspection that came with being high made her realize how unhappy she was. The melodrama of being drunk helped her _feel it_.

“What I fell for is the idea that it would make me happy. That it would make me feel like- like I was _somebody_ but I’m not. I’m a pretender. I’m nobody from nowhere.”

“Uh-oh. Oh no,” he said, conscious of the short tumble from ‘tipsy fun’ to ‘drunk melancholy disaster’ and how treacherous the edge Rey walked at this moment. He gently shushed her, his fingertips ghosting across her knuckles as he carefully took the joint from her right hand, hitting the dregs and dropping it to the pavement to stomp it out. Then, he untangled both of her hands from her hair as softly as if he were stacking porcelain figurines of barnyard animals.

“Hey, hey. You are somebody. You _are_ . Rey, look at me.” She did. He was now squatting, holding her hands in his, looking her in the eyes. “Maybe you don’t believe it yet but I know it. And I know you sure as hell aren’t _nobody_.”

“ _Nobodies_ don’t get into Fifty-Four, sweetheart. A nobody certainly wouldn’t aid and abet the shellacking of Armitage Hux in front of all his peers.”

The rapidly spreading smile across her cheeks couldn’t be suppressed as she closed her eyes in disbelief at what had happened only twenty or so minutes ago.

“That’s right, I’m talking about you. You’re my accomplice now so you better not narc on me or we’re both going down.”

Rey snorted and he looked like he had just won the world in a claw game.

“And y’know what else? I just have to say this,” he said, biting his lip and blinking like he might shed a tear, “there happens to be absolutely nothing wrong with your ass.”

Her face fell flat from sheer wonder to visibly disappointed. Of course, that too, disintegrated to begrudging amusement. She couldn’t hide, no matter how much she wished she could, the fact that his cheeky jokes and his corny compliments made her happy.

“In fact, I would say that your ass-”

Oh, God he wasn’t done.

Poe raised his fist to his lips and squinted, really earning that Oscar, “it’s one of the nicest I have ever seen.”

That earned him a slug on the shoulder. Rey delivered it, her eyes dancing. He snickered and rubbed the sore spot, asking if it was something he said.

They were quiet again, after Poe stopped enjoying how _hilarious_ he was. Rey watched down the dark alleyway as it yawned before her, feeling all of her immediate problems stacking up. She frowned.

“God, when Karl finds out about this, he’s gonna tan my hide.”

“Who’s Karl?” he replied, really biting down on the two middle syllables of the name like he already hated the guy.

“My manager.”

At that, he gave her a very wry, almost ashamed-of-her look.

“Rey, indulge me?”

She fanned her hand out with a flourish. _You may have the floor, sir_. He pressed a gallant hand to his chest and gave her a little bow with his head.

“Now,” he began, standing to full height, “I’ve only known you for an evening but it’s clear to me that you’re gonna be a star. I can tell. You stand in close proximity to genius for long enough and you learn to see it. The spark,” he said, breathing in deep like there was a new scent on the wind. “I see it in you and, baby, it’s blinding.”

“So-,” he resumed, reaching out his hand to give her a lift up, “that being said - I say it’s time you start telling Karl how it’s gonna be, not the other way around.”

“You already got me in a world of trouble tonight, Poe.” He had not let go of her hands yet, she noticed.

“What’s a little more misbehavior?” he whispered, watching her lips with keen interest.

“You have something in mind?” she purred.

“Well,” he said, running a calloused thumb over her knuckles, “if you _really_ wanna show him who’s in charge-”

Come to think of it, she wasn’t that interested in his master plan. Rey threw her arms around his neck, twining her fingers behind his head, and kissed him. He was surprised at first, but it didn’t last long. Poe reached under his jacket, grabbing her by her waist with warm hands and pulled her into him.  

It was Rey who had the last laugh as they broke apart. Finally, someone had wiped that self-assured, class-clown look off his pretty face, only to be replaced by something no less appealing — a dozy, kiss-drunk look, the edges of his mouth curling, making him look like that cartoon coyote that just got crushed by a piano. Rey could imagine little tweeting birds fluttering in a circle around his head.

“Okay,” he said, eyelids heavy, “I was just gonna say you could ditch this scene and go get pizza with an unemployed bartender instead but your thing was- yeah, it was pretty good too, that’ll really show ol’ Karl.”

She laughed, taking confident steps around him until they were abreast. Her arm snaked presumptuously around his. “C’mon. Pizza sounds good, too.”

Poe triumphantly crowned himself with his captain’s hat once more, walking side by side with her as if they were crossing a ballroom. “Dig this,” he said, his spirits up, “got a dynamite joint by my place - best New York-style slice you can get in the city and hey, if you play your cards right maybe I'll invite you over to meet my dog.”

“You have a dog?” the accidental childish enthusiasm in her voice made her flush.

“I do. Like I said, play your cards right. Oh, and by the way - I was curious - what was your talent. Y’know, at the talent show. What was the act?”

“No, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Baton twirling.”

Honest-to-God, unbridled laughter from Poe echoed in the alley. Rey found her ear enjoying the raucous music of it.

They stepped into the night. She was surprised to feel so completely happy, swimming in a bartender’s coat as she cleaved to his side, pitying the throngs of people still trying to get into 54.

**Author's Note:**

> guys
> 
> get it
> 
> unKARL plutt? GET IT?
> 
> also raise your hand if you’re feeling the kylux sequel im sorta kinda feeling with kylo the big grumpy bouncer.
> 
> anyway thanks for experiencing this fever dream with me


End file.
